Elizabeth Sinclair - Touched By Fire

Sam squirmed under A.J.’s watchful gaze from across Rachel’s dining-room table. She added her empty cake plate to the stack Rachel was collecting. After depositing them in the sink, Rachel refilled Sam’s coffee cup. Adding cream and sugar, Sam stirred the light brown liquid and tried to block out thoughts of that kiss she and A.J. had shared that kept popping into her head every time she looked at him. If she allowed herself, she could still feel how warm and sweet that kiss had been. How her heart had cried out for him to take her in his arms and never let go. How—

She blinked away the daydream and checked her watch. “It’s getting late. Can we get down to the reason for this little gathering?” she asked, hoping to distract A.J. and get this evening over with.

Rachel laid a manila folder in front of them. “Sam’s right. We need to talk FIST business,” she announced. “What did you two find at the bookstore?”

In the year since Rachel and Sam had founded FIST, they had investigated several arson sprees, a serial arsonist and at least a dozen insurance fires. Though they’d started slow, word was rapidly spreading around the state that if a fire chief or an insurance company had a fire that required special investigation, they called FIST.

“This was an easy one,” Sam said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

“What do you know about Bayside Insurance?” A.J. asked.

“Rachel?” Luke looked at his wife.

Rachel opened the folder and scanned it. “They’re an old company that was absorbed into the Florida Life and Property Company. When they merged, most of the Bayside employees were pensioned off and the company installed their own people in the jobs. According to this, their business has been less than stellar this year. I think the bookstore was a tax write-off and they needed the deduction, so…” She frowned at Sam and A.J. “Why?”

“Because A.J. and I think the insurance company is trying to get out of paying. There’s no evidence of arson there. I went over the outlet wiring that they claimed might have started it, and there’s no evidence of it. The window they said was broken into was blown out by the heat, not in by any intruder.” She glanced at A.J. then looked away. “I checked around the store for the point of origin and found a water leak in the back wall, right above the circuit breakers. The wall above it was black. Textbook V Burn mark. Bottom line is, these guys don’t want to cough up the settlement check.”

Rachel had been taking notes while Sam talked. “Well, that’s going to make our clients very happy. You took pictures, right?” Sam nodded. Rachel collected Sam and A.J.’s written reports and added them to her folder. “That’s about it then. I’ll call the bookstore owner tomorrow.”

Quickly, before Rachel could find an excuse for her to stay, Sam rose to make her exit. She’d had about all of A.J.’s sexual aura she could take for one night. “Well, I’m gonna hit the road. Thanks for everything,” she said, making her way to the door.

“Good night,” Rachel and Luke called as she hurried out of the air-conditioned house and into the humid Florida night.

Without turning, she waved at them over her shoulder.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” a deep voice said from just behind her.

She spun and came face-to-face with A.J. “Ah, thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

“That wasn’t a question, Sam.” Her name rolled off his tongue like a caress after a night of hot sex. She shivered and fought to keep her equilibrium.

Leaving her no room for argument, he took her arm gently in his grasp and steered her down the driveway to her car. The nearly moonless night closed in on them, creating an intimate atmosphere that Sam—with A.J.’s warm fingers still wrapped around her upper arm—found way too confining. She tried to pull free, but his grip tightened just enough to prevent her escape.

Halfway down the front walk, he pulled her to a standstill. “Unlock the car.”

She looked at him, then remembered that unlocking her SUV had been the trigger for the bomb. Without a word, she hit the remote. The lights on the car flashed, and they could hear the distinctive click of the door locks releasing.

“Okay, let’s go.” A.J. pushed her forward.

When they reached her car, he held her away while he looked into the backseat. Only when he was sure it was safe did he release her.

She turned and, before she could express her thanks, she found herself pinned up against the cold fender, staring straight into the eyes of the first man who had brought her blood to a rolling boil since Sloan Whitley. No, she corrected, Sloan had never made her feel as if her body had all the rigidity of cooked spaghetti and as if her head were filled with helium.

As A.J.’s face moved closer to hers, she stared at his mouth, full and tempting.

He’s going to kiss me. I have to stop him. I have to…

Any warnings her brain sent her vanished, burned to ashes with the invading heat, leaving behind only a deep longing to feel his lips pressed against hers again.

“I was going to apologize for kissing you today,” he growled, his voice low and sultry, “but I decided that would be hypocritical.” He lowered his mouth toward hers.

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